


Appropriate Attire

by happyeverafter72



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Autistic Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, Genderqueer Character, Holmes had a hard childhood, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyeverafter72/pseuds/happyeverafter72
Summary: After a visit to the Holmes family estate, Watson learns something unexpected about Holmes. This leads to some changes in their relationship.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Charlotte Sometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190076) by [Vulgarweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed). 



Watson had known, almost from the beginning of his acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, that his friend had a remarkable talent for disguising himself. It had never occurred to him, however, that Holmes would be able to convincingly pass himself off as a woman. That was until, at a social event held by a member of his club, the lady he was partnering in a waltz spoke to him in an all too familiar voice. 

Before Watson could exclaim, Holmes discretely clapped a hand over his mouth. Chuckling slightly, the detective said in a low voice, “You are surprised by my appearance, Watson.” 

“I certainly am, Holmes,” Watson whispered when his mouth was released. “What are you doing here? And how ought I to address you?” 

“Call me Lady Gillette,” Holmes replied. “I am here because I believe there is a plan to burgle your friend.” 

Not wishing to attract any attention, they ceased their conversation. When the dance finished, they separated. 

“Thank you for the dance, Dr Watson,” Holmes said, offering his hand. 

“My pleasure, Lady Gillette,” Watson replied, taking Holmes’s hand and kissing it. 

Holmes moved away into the crowd, and Watson went to get a drink. He had known for some time he was attracted to both men and women, and, above all, he was attracted to Sherlock Holmes. This had become apparent to him very early on in their friendship and had only become stronger over time. Even knowing all of this, it surprised Watson just how strongly attracted he was to Holmes as a woman. Holmes had clearly been wearing a corset and the dress he wore fitted his figure to perfection. The necklace he had worn accentuated his long neck, the pendant resting between his delicate collar bones. Watson had been unable to stop himself from imagining what was underneath the dress and corset, what it would be like to touch those expanses of skin and kiss that beautiful neck. 

Shaking himself, he filed his imaginings away for use when he was alone in his bed later. He drained his glass, then continued to mingle with the other guests. Not knowing anything about the case, there was little he could do to help Holmes except to participate in the genial atmosphere and not call any attention to the risk. 

The gathering lasted another couple of hours. Watson looked around for Holmes when the guests were dispersing but could not see his friend. Assuming that Holmes had headed for one of his bolt holes to remove his disguise, Watson hailed a Hansom to take him home. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

As Holmes removed his dress and changed back into his gentleman’s clothes, he ran over the evening in his mind. He had been satisfied with the outcome of the case. He had zeroed in on his suspect almost as soon as he arrived and had kept track of the man all evening. Thus, when the burglary attempt had been made, he had been able to step in. He had apprehended the man, escorted him outside, and alerted a nearby constable. All in all, an excellent outcome. 

This had been eclipsed, though, by the experience of dancing with Watson. He had felt so comfortable and safe in the doctor’s arms. Watson’s hand in his had been soft and gentle, and he had found himself wondering what those fingers would feel like against his skin. 

As he pulled on his jacket, he gave a deep sigh. He only wished he had not imagined the way Watson had looked at him. He had known for a long time that he loved Watson, and sometimes those feelings led him to imagine signs of reciprocal attraction. Still, it was a lovely thing to imagine: Watson’s hands on his bare skin, lips on the sensitive skin of his neck, soft murmurs of love. He shook his head, storing it all away for later, and left the bolt hole to make his way home. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Watson had already gone to bed when Holmes arrived back at Baker Street, so it was not until the morning that he was able to relate a full account of the evening to his friend. He sat comfortably with a pipe and told the story. 

“You will recall, Watson, that a string of burglaries has been committed over the past month under cover of social functions. The execution of the thefts, coupled with the items stolen, pointed to one person: Matthew Harrison. It seemed to me very probable that he would target your friend. Therefore, I contrived to be in attendance. As I had expected, Harrison was there. I kept track of him throughout the evening and apprehended him in the act.” 

“An excellent night’s work, Holmes,” Watson said. 

“Indeed,” Holmes replied with a nod. “A most satisfactory outcome.” 

They shared a brief smile, then lapsed into comfortable silence. Holmes had just finished his pipe when a knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” he called. 

Mrs Hudson entered. “A letter for you, Mr Holmes,” she said, handing over an envelope. 

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” he replied. He studied the envelope, recognising the handwriting instantly. “From my oldest brother. I wonder what he could want.” 

He opened the envelope and unfolded the contents. The family crest appeared at the head of the notepaper, as necessarily ostentatious as ever. The letter read thus: 

_My dear Sherlock,_

_It is approaching 15 years since Father’s death. Mother and I feel it would be appropriate for us to gather for a few days and hold a commemoration. Thus, I am inviting you to come to the estate on the coming weekend and to stay for the following week. You may, if you wish, bring your friend, as Mother is eager to make his acquaintance. I look forward to receiving your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Sherrinford Holmes_

Holmes huffed. “I have been summoned,” he said, handing the letter to Watson. “And the invitation has been extended to you, my dear fellow. A rare privilege indeed.” 

“Is Sherrinford similar to you and Mycroft?” Watson asked. 

Holmes considered. “There are certainly some common features. For instance, he has a marked interest in the flora and fauna of the local area. However, he is more similar to our father than Mycroft or me. He was raised to take over the running of the family estate. All his studies were directed towards that.” 

“I see,” Watson said. “Does he have a family of his own?” 

Holmes nodded. “He has a wife and two children, a boy and a girl. Our mother lives with them still. From what I can gather, she runs the household, to my brother’s consternation. She has always been a very strong-willed woman.” He chuckled at the thought. 

Watson laughed too. “I would like to see that. I will be very happy to go with you.” 

They talked for a while longer, Holmes telling Watson about the house and the estate. Eventually, Watson had to leave for his practice, and Holmes set about conducting some chemical experiments. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

That evening, Holmes’s thoughts were preoccupied with the forthcoming trip. He had wired Sherrinford earlier in the day to let him know they would be coming. He never enjoyed visiting his family, but Watson’s presence would make it more bearable. 

He sighed heavily as he changed into his night things, pulling a soft cotton chemise over his head. He wondered to himself whether he ought to take these things with him. Was the comfort he would derive from being able to wear them when he wished worth the risk that he might be found out? 

As he lay down in bed, he thought of Watson. He wished that he could tell Watson everything, about his feelings for him and his nature. He sighed again. That really was not worth the risk. He could not take the chance of losing his Watson for anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning: small mention of eating issues caused by parental scrutiny. If this is a problem for you, skip the dinner scene in section 3.

The journey to the Holmes family estate was a long one. The estate was situated in North Yorkshire, thus requiring several hours of train travel. The companions conversed from time to time, otherwise Watson amused himself by contemplating the scenery rushing by. Holmes was uneasy in himself. He knew that he was expected to do this family duty, but he wasn’t by any means happy about it. He was very grateful to have Watson with him. 

At York, they left the train and transferred into a cart. They rattled along for mile after mile, out onto the moors. It started to rain, and Holmes’s expression became more and more sullen. 

“Cheer up, Holmes,” Watson said with rather forced heartiness. “It’s bracing.” 

A grumbling noise was the only response Holmes gave. 

Watson laughed. “Well, how far away are we now?” 

“It’s not much further now,” Holmes said, his eyes scanning the landscape. “I remember running out to spend my days on the moor, escaping the restraint of the household.” 

This was the first time that Watson had heard Holmes talk about his childhood. He decided that it would be best not to ask for more details, instead letting Holmes choose whether or not to continue with the subject. Instead, they lapsed back into silence. 

Within a few minutes, the cart was wheeling up the drive to the house. It was an impressive building, built of local stone and imposingly decorated. 

“It’s an impressive house, Holmes,” Watson observed. 

“I suppose so,” Holmes acceded. “It has been in the family for 10 generations. 

When they pulled up, Sherrinford and his family were waiting on the steps. Watson could see the family resemblance in the oldest brother. He had the familiar grey eyes and austere features. 

Sherrinford stepped forward as they got out of the cart. “Welcome, Sherlock,” he said, extending his hand to his brother. 

Holmes took the proffered hand and shook it. “Thank you, Sherrinford. Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague, Dr Watson.” 

Sherrinford turned to Watson. “I’m pleased to meet you, doctor. Our mother has been looking forward to meeting you.” 

Watson was struck by Sherrinford’s accent, which had retained the local twang that Sherlock and Mycroft had lost through schooling and time spent in London. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr Holmes,” he replied. “You are certainly lucky to live in such a beautiful place.” 

Sherrinford nodded. “It is indeed a remarkable place. I shall ask the butler to take your bags to your rooms. You will be in your old bedroom, Sherlock.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Watson had finished unpacking and was admiring the view from his large window when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. “Come in,” he called. 

Holmes entered and went to stand beside his friend. “What do you think of it, Watson?” he asked. 

“It really is a superb house. And this bedroom seems very comfortable,” Watson replied. 

Holmes nodded. “And how did you find Sherrinford?” 

Watson considered how to word his thoughts for a moment before answering. “He seems rather stiff in his manner. Not like you at all.” 

Holmes laughed. “Yes, he is rather. I think that you will find me somewhat more similar while we are here.” 

“For what reason?” Watson asked. 

Holmes gave a tiny, sad smile. “I am afraid you will not find this a warm family environment. Father was always very serious, and Sherrinford is the same. Mother is more interested in her own comfort and being in control than about any of us. It is generally better for me to be withdrawn.” 

Watson wanted more than anything to take Holmes in his arms, to tell Holmes that he was loved and that everything would be okay. Instead, he laid a reassuring hand on Holmes’s arm. “I promise I will support you the best that I can.” 

Holmes felt his heart swell. “Thank you, John,” he said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. 

Comfortable silence settled around them for several moments. Holmes felt more hopeful about the rest of the visit than he ever had before. His Watson really was wonderful. 

It was Holmes who broke the silence. “I think that we should probably go downstairs now. Mother will be waiting in the drawing room.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Watson decided quite quickly that he did not like Holmes’s mother at all. The barrage of questioning to which she subjected Holmes, and then him, was awful. He felt that he was under intense scrutiny and could only think how hard it must have been for Holmes to grow up like that. Fortunately for Watson’s peace of mind, Mycroft arrived before dinner. This diverted and diluted their mother’s attention, and they were all able to enjoy some measure of calm. 

Dinner was liver in an onion sauce. It was not a substantial portion, yet Watson watched as Holmes picked at it slowly. It was clear to him that his friend, naturally a picky eater, felt uncomfortable under his mother’s eye. 

Once the main course was over, Watson discretely patted Holmes’s arm. Holmes evidently understood the sentiment of this, because he flicked a small smile in return. Dessert was a rather easier affair than the main course had been, and they then retired to the drawing room for coffee. 

The evening seemed to last for a long time. The children were sent to bed shortly after dinner, and Holmes’s mother once again began to question her younger sons. 

“How much do you boys see of each other in London?” she asked. 

“Very little, Mother,” Holmes replied. “You know that Mycroft and I both have important work that keeps us busy.” 

She made a derisive noise. “I would hardly say that your work is of equal importance to Mycroft’s, Sherlock.” 

Watson would have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. 

“That is unfair,” Holmes said icily. “The work I do is of great importance to the people I help.” 

“Petty problems that should be dealt with by the police? That hardly carries the importance of influence within government,” she responded. She then moved on, evidently deciding the subject was finished with. 

Without a word, Holmes rose and left the room. Watson followed, throwing a glance at Mycroft. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Holmes had just changed into his night things when a knock sounded at his bedroom door. He wrapped himself in his dressing gown before calling out, “Come in.” 

Watson entered the room. “I thought I might sit with you awhile, if you don’t object.” 

Holmes smiled. “I would like that. Come and sit down.” 

They sat at opposite ends of the bed. Watson was relieved to see that Holmes was rather more relaxed. 

“Would you care for some hot cocoa?” Holmes asked. “I’m afraid we would have to share the same mug, but it is very good.” He worried that this was far too intimate a suggestion, but Watson only smiled. 

“That sounds lovely,” Watson said. 

Letting out a small breath of relief, Holmes passed the mug over. Watson hummed with pleasure when he tasted the cocoa, and Holmes chuckled lightly. 

“What did you think of my mother?” Holmes asked. 

Watson passed the mug back. “She is certainly very forthright,” he said diplomatically. 

Holmes laughed. “Come now, I won’t be offended. Tell me what you really think.” 

“Honestly, then, she is one of the most unpleasant people I have ever met,” Watson responded. “Has she always behaved in that way towards you?” 

Holmes nodded. “I’m afraid so.” 

“We don’t have to stay,” Watson offered. “We could leave tomorrow and go home.” 

“That’s very kind of you,” Holmes said with a smile, “but I’m going to tough it out. If I fulfil this obligation, they will leave me alone for a while.” 

“Well, what shall we do tomorrow?” 

“I thought that I would show you around some of the estate. We could be out for several hours.” 

Watson chuckled. “That sounds excellent.” 

They sat for a while longer, savouring the cocoa by turns. The cocoa and Watson’s smiles warmed Holmes to his toes. It was the happiest he had ever felt in that house. 

“I should probably retire,” Watson said at last, stretching and getting up. 

“A sensible notion,” Holmes responded. “Good night, my dear.” 

“Good night, darling.” 

It was not until Watson had left that Holmes realised what they had both said. He knew that Watson’s words had been merely a slip of the tongue, and he only hoped that his own words had been interpreted as such too. He let out a shaky sigh, before going to clean his teeth. When he lay down in bed afterwards, he wrapped his arms around himself. As he so often did, he imagined that Watson was holding him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there is some period-typical homophobia at the end of this chapter.

Over the next couple of days, Holmes and Watson spent many happy hours rambling around the estate. Holmes told stories of adventures from his childhood, relating things he had learned and the feeling of freedom he had experienced. There was one particularly special place that they went to, a cave beside a small lake. 

“I used to come here a lot,” Holmes explained, leading the way inside. “It is far enough from the house that I could remain here without being discovered, and the lake is a rich source of scientific observation.” 

“Picturesque too,” Watson observed. 

Holmes nodded. “Quite. It was an ideal refuge for learning and for play.” 

“What sort of games did you play?” Watson asked, curious about this different side to his dearest friend. 

“I would pretend I was an explorer, or sometimes a pirate,” Holmes replied with a smile. “The lake was my sea and the cave my island.” 

“Ah, so this is where your penchant for breaking the law came from, then,” Watson teased. 

Holmes laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. It was terribly fun.” 

“When was the last time you played a game?” 

Holmes considered. “I have absolutely no idea.” 

“Would you like to now?” 

For the next few hours, barring a break to eat lunch, the air was filled with the laughter and shouts of the buccaneers as they explored their island. Holmes felt light and free. It was the most wonderful sensation. 

They only stopped when they realised how late it was getting. The sun was well-advanced in its descent toward the horizon when they began the journey back over the moor. Without thinking about it, they held hands as they walked back. To Watson, it felt right and natural, the warm pressure of Holmes’s hand in his. He swung their joined hands slightly between them, and Holmes laughed and tugged him closer. It was as though they were in a happy bubble, removed from the world. 

As they got nearer to the house, Holmes began to walk more slowly, trying to prolong the time outside. Watson gave Holmes’s hand a gentle squeeze, silently communicating his support. Holmes squeezed back in thanks. 

Inevitably, they reached the driveway. Holmes regretfully released Watson’s hand, and they made their way inside. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

All through dinner, Holmes kept glancing sideways and grinning at Watson. He mostly found that his expression was mirrored back at him, and they would both laugh. This earned them several disapproving looks, but neither cared. Holmes let his mother’s sniping glance off him, almost unheeded. 

They retired early, finding the conversation in the drawing room boring. Holmes had asked the cook for 2 mugs of cocoa, and they sat side by side on his bed, talking about what they might do the following day. 

“I think it might be pleasant to go into York,” Watson said. “From what I’ve heard, it’s very beautiful.” 

Holmes nodded. “Yes, that would be a good excursion. We may even be lucky enough to catch a concert. If anyone else wants to go, we might be able to use the carriage.” 

Watson smiled. “That would be a stroke of luck.” He paused for a moment, cradling his mug in his lap. “Did you enjoy yourself today?” 

“Yes, I did,” Holmes replied earnestly. “I enjoyed it very much. Did you?” 

“Yes,” Watson responded. “It was brilliant.” 

They lapsed into companionable silence for a while, sipping their cocoa. Both were enjoying the closeness, the feeling of warmth from their bodies next to each other. Once they had finished drinking, Watson decided he probably ought to go. What he really wanted to do was to cuddle Holmes, to kiss him, to love him. Leaving would be better. 

“I think I’d better get to bed, Holmes,” he said. “I’m very tired after all that running about.” 

Holmes wanted to ask Watson to stay with him. What he said instead was, “As am I. Good night, dear fellow.” 

“Good night.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Holmes was already at breakfast the following morning when Watson entered the room. It gave him a thrill when the doctor ruffled his hair as he passed. The feeling of those gentle fingers on his scalp was heavenly. He almost tipped his head up for a kiss, before catching himself. 

“Good morning, Watson,” he said. 

“Good morning, Holmes,” Watson replied. “Did you sleep well?” 

They chatted amiably over their food, then retired to the drawing room for a while. It was there that Mycroft found them. 

“Be warned, Sherlock,” he said, “Sherrinford is looking for you and he’s on the warpath.” 

“Hum. I wonder what I’ve done,” Holmes mused. 

Shortly afterwards, Sherrinford entered the room. His face was thunderous. “What are these?” he demanded, thrusting a bundle of garments under his brother’s nose. 

Holmes inspected them carefully. “I believe that would be a chemise and a petticoat,” he answered coolly. 

“Would you care to explain to me why you have them with you?” 

“Would _you_ care to explain why you have been through my possessions?” Holmes countered icily. 

“Mother was concerned you had been taking drugs. Answer my question.” 

Holmes knew this to be a lie. “No.” 

Sherrinford sighed heavily. “I thought all this had been drummed out of you. Why would you do this, Sherlock?” 

Holmes had flinched slightly at the first sentence, but quickly regained his composure. “I do not have to explain myself to you,” he said. 

“Then get out.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You heard me. I won’t have a bloody queer in my house with my children.” 

With great dignity, both Holmes and Watson rose and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey home was spent in heavy silence. Holmes was deep in his thoughts, and Watson didn’t dare to disturb him. Watson burned with curiosity but didn’t want to cause any further upset. His opinion of his friend had not changed at all. He supposed that he ought to think less of Holmes, and be distrustful, but it simply was not so. His love for his friend had not abated a jot. 

Holmes was turning events over and over in his mind. He had been such a fool. He might have known that he would be found out. Sherrinford had never trusted him and would always try to assert his authority as head of the family. Holmes knew that because of his foolishness he was going to lose Watson. The doctor was a good person, with strong morals and an unblemished reputation. There could be no reason for a person like Watson to stay with a person like Holmes. Tears prickled at Holmes’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would not let Watson see how his heart was breaking. 

When they at long last arrived back at Baker Street, both of them retreated to their rooms. Mrs Hudson had promised that supper would be ready in a couple of hours, so they had some time to kill. Somewhat tentatively, Holmes settled himself in his armchair with a pipe. Despite the pain, it felt good to be home. 

After a short while, Watson joined Holmes by the fire. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Holmes decided he owed his friend an explanation. 

“Doubtless, you also wish to know what Sherrinford demanded of me this morning,” he said. 

“I would not wish to ask for any details you don’t want to share,” Watson replied. 

Holmes’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “You are a true gentleman, Watson. I do not object to _you_ asking me.” 

Watson took a breath. “Why do you have those garments, Holmes?” 

“Quite simply, Watson, I feel equally as comfortable in women’s clothing as I do in men’s. Sometimes I feel more feminine, so I wear those garments and it brings me comfort.” He paused for a moment, considering what to say next. “I began to experiment with wearing my mother’s clothes when I was about seven. I was careful, but my father caught me one day. He punished me, trying to drum it out of me, but it only served to make me more secretive. Mycroft caught me taking some of our mother’s old clothes several years later, but he was discrete, and I remained undetected other than that.” 

“You don’t think Sherrinford knew, then?” Watson asked. 

“Not definitively,” Holmes replied. “Father must have told him, and he is always suspicious of me.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” Watson said solemnly. 

Holmes cast his eyes down to his lap. “I expect that you will want to leave now.” 

Watson was astonished. “By no means.” 

“You are not … disgusted by me?” Holmes asked hesitantly. 

“How could I ever be disgusted by you, Sherlock?” Watson responded. “In fact, my feelings are quite the opposite.” 

Hope glimmered in Holmes’s eyes. “Truly?” 

“Could you really not see what I was trying to tell you yesterday?” Watson asked. He rose from his chair and took Holmes’s hands to pull him gently to his feet. When he spoke again, his voice was as soft as his smile. “I love you. I love your brilliance, and even your arrogance. I love the way your hair falls over your forehead in the morning before you slick it back, and how your eyes sparkle when you talk about Paganini. I love your smile, and I love your laugh. I love _you_ entirely.” 

Holmes smiled broadly, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh John,” he murmured, bringing up a hand to cup Watson’s cheek, “I have loved you for so long. I never dreamed you felt the same.” 

They both leaned in and their lips met. Holmes felt warmth bloom in his chest at the gentle touch. They wrapped their arms around each other as they continued to trade soft kisses. They nuzzled their noses together, smiling against each other’s lips. Time seemed to stretch out, immeasurable and golden. 

The sound of the kitchen door below forecast the disturbance of their bliss. They pulled back, looking at each other. 

“I believe that would be our supper, John,” Holmes said. 

“Thank God,” Watson replied with a laugh. “I’m famished.” 

Holmes laughed too. “As am I. Let’s eat, then we can cuddle for a while. And afterwards, bed. Together.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Watson murmured. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

After supper, Holmes went to change into his night things while Watson got comfortable on the settee. Watson was amazed by how the day had changed. It was wonderful to finally be able to show the depth of his feelings for Holmes. He was determined to show his love in every way he could forever. 

Holmes came back into the room, wrapped in his dressing gown. “John, I wanted you to see me in my feminine attire properly,” he said quietly. He sat beside Watson and opened the dressing gown to reveal a chemise trimmed with lace. “What do you think?” 

“I think you look beautiful,” Watson replied. “Can I hold you now?” 

She laughed and snuggled up to him. The slipped their arms around each other’s waists. As they both read, Watson rubbed small circles on Holmes’s hip with his thumb. She sighed softly, relaxing further against him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She moved up, requesting more kissing. Books were laid aside, and he obliged. He pulled her onto his lap, kissing her deeply. At a questioning touch, she opened her lips for him with a murmur of pleasure. Their tongues danced as her fingers tangled in his hair. He held her with one arm, and the other hand found its way under the hem of the chemise to caress the soft, warm skin of her thigh. She shivered a little at the gentle touch of his fingers, so much better than she had ever imagined. 

He released her mouth to kiss her cheekbone, then nuzzled her jawline. He kissed her elegant neck, making her sigh. As he continued, she started to giggle. Watson thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

“What is it, my love?” he murmured. 

“Your moustache tickles,” she replied, her voice full of wonder. “It’s lovely.” 

He chuckled. “I think,” he said, “that I should like to take you to bed.” 

“I should like that very much.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Some while later, they lay blissfully in each other’s arms, their legs tangled together. Feeling too lazy to go to the bathroom, Watson had cleaned them with a towel, and they had curled up under the blankets. 

“I love you,” Holmes murmured, her fingers lightly stroking the scars on Watson’s shoulder. 

He hummed slightly, skimming a hand along her spine. “I love you too,” he murmured back. “You’re amazing.” 

Watson meant this in many different ways, and perhaps Holmes realised this. Instead of speaking again, she drew him into another kiss, at once soft and passionate. 

Warm and happy, they settled down to sleep. Holmes felt completely safe, and completely seen, for the first time. It was the most wonderful feeling.


End file.
